


Day 2 - Hot Chocolate

by ConsultingPurplePants



Series: 25 Days of Fic-Mas (originally posted to tumblr) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, M/M, fluff explosion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingPurplePants/pseuds/ConsultingPurplePants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock discovers hot chocolate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 2 - Hot Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> Here's day 2!   
> I'll basically be posting 3 days-worth at the same time, but after this it should be (hopefully) once a day :)

It has been nearly a month since John first mentioned hot chocolate, and he has regretted it ever since. It had been an innocent statement in passing while they were walking around Regent’s Park, and Sherlock had swooped down upon it immediately.

“What are you talking about, John? People don’t drink chocolate.”

John had stared at him in confusion and a little sadness before pulling himself together and asking a question he probably already knew the answer to.

“You’ve never had hot chocolate? Not even as a child?”

Sherlock’s answering head shake and puzzled look had made John’s mind up for him. He had grabbed Sherlock by the hand and bodily dragged him into the nearest coffee shop, a small artisanal place near the corner of Baker Street. He had had to shell out a little bit more than expected, but the overwhelmed expression on Sherlock’s face and his barely-breathed, “John!” had been well worth a couple of extra pounds. They had walked out of the shop with Sherlock looking like he would savour every last sip of his drink, and John had thought that would be the end of it.

Now, however, he realizes he should have known much better than that.

For the past three weeks, their kitchen has been an absolute war zone. It is littered with boxes and boxes of various types of drinking chocolate flakes, powdered cocoa, cheap powdered hot chocolate and blocks of baking chocolate, and there is a thin layer of chocolate powder on literally every surface in the kitchen. This powder is also on several microscope slides that Sherlock keeps examining, muttering, “No… No that’s not it, that’s not it,” under his breath while tearing at his hair. After a week, John had simply given up on his vain attempts at cleaning the kitchen and he now eats breakfast on his way to the surgery and picks up takeaway for dinner every night. He has not entered the kitchen for two weeks, and is getting more and more grumpy as the tea withdrawal starts to set in. Tea withdrawal. John hadn’t even thought it was possible, but here he is. In tea withdrawal.

John is absolutely positive that at some point in the next three days, he is going to snap. Probably explosively.

It happens on Christmas Eve. He had been called in to the surgery because one of the other doctors had wanted to go on holiday with his family. He had gone, despite knowing full-well that Christmas Eve was probably the worst time to be a medical professional. People rushing to buy gifts and put up their decorations injured themselves far more easily than they should, and the waiting room was usually packed full of people with easily preventable injuries. This year does not disappoint; when he finally leaves for home, he is as exhausted as he has ever been, and the tea withdrawal isn’t helping.

He walks up the stairs to the flat, one step at a time, dragging snow all over the place and too exhausted to care. He opens the door to the sitting room, takes one look at his disaster of a kitchen, and bellows, “SHERLOCK-”

He is immediately interrupted by the happiest consulting detective he has ever seen.

“John! I did it! I did it!”

He barely has enough time to focus before an enormous mug (no… bowl) of hot chocolate is pressed into his hands. He collapses onto the sofa with it, too exhausted to protest, while Sherlock flits nervously from one end of the sitting room to the other. He raises the ridiculous drinking vessel to his lips, and is immediately overwhelmed by the absolute, hands down, greatest hot chocolate he has ever had in his life.

It’s slightly spicy, a little darker than a normal hot chocolate, and very rich. It’s not too sweet (John abhors the incredibly sweet hot chocolate at Starbucks) and it flows perfectly smoothly down his throat. John’s entire day, his entire month, drain away from him, and he looks up at Sherlock in awe. Sherlock takes one look at him and immediately starts babbling.

“Do you like it? I wanted to give you the perfect hot chocolate for Christmas, so I did extensive research and found hot chocolate originates from the Mayan drink xocolatl, which was quite spicy, and which I deduced you would like due to your preference for spicier Thai dishes, but I also know that you would prefer to have something sweeter than that, since it was quite bitter because sugar hadn’t been discovered yet, but I also know that you like slightly darker chocolate because you always complain about that ‘Dairy milk rubbish’ so I made sure to –”

John cuts him off by pulling his head down and giving him a long, sweet, chocolaty kiss.

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect, and I love you. Now come here.”

John finds a blanket wedged behind the sofa and pulls Sherlock in close, wrapping them both in its warmth. He looks at the fire burning happily in the grate, strokes Sherlock’s curls while drinking his perfect hot chocolate, and tells himself that the row about who will clean up the probably radioactive kitchen can wait another day.


End file.
